


A Mage's Favor

by Animunculi



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Cutesy shit, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Romance, minor Female Hawke/Sebastian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 17:43:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10949529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animunculi/pseuds/Animunculi
Summary: Varric maintains that spying is the ultimate expression of friendship.





	A Mage's Favor

The gang as a whole had long accepted that being such a varied and interwoven group of lunatics was bound to cause a few problems.

The plague of gossip just happened to be one of the more obnoxious.

The death of privacy was accepted with varied levels of acceptance by each group member; Isabela, of course, had no secrets, Merrill didn’t understand the concept, while Anders grew up with Templars watching him bathe, and Varric was a voyeur at heart.

Sebastian smiled through it, although with tense eyes and pursed lips, while Fenris clung to his privacy as long and greedily as he could, but eventually succumbed. Aveline learned to live with it.

Every bit of gossip, either heard through the grapevine or blatantly invented by Varric, was brought up and hashed out around the table during their games of Wicked Grace.

_“So, sparklefingers, just out of curiosity, is that Lirene’s real hair color? Hawke and I’ve got a bet going.”_

_“Varric, did Merrill actually end up in the Grand Cleric’s office? Because I’ve been trying to sneak in there for ages and it is not that easy.”_

_“Rivaini, does Broody really glow all over? Be honest, this is for the book.”_

Except a few things, naturally.

For one, not a word was spoken on Isabela’s sudden attachment to Merrill outside the bedroom. And aside from some saucy quips from one saucy pirate, no one mentioned anything about Anders and Fenris and how the Kirkwall populous (mostly Aveline) kept catching them having sex in increasingly bizarre locations.

There was a disaster brewing and little excitement for the day when Isabela discovered her budding monogamy and Fenris remembered he was sleeping with an abomination.

Merrill and Anders were unstable on the best days and no one wanted to be remembered as the straw that broke the half-mad, soon-to-be or currently possessed apostate’s back.

And since it was a unanimously agreed upon silence, it was only natural that it was Merrill, bless her bleeding heart (and wrists, occasionally), who brought up both topics in a sudden swoop of social dysfunction.

“Anders?” Merrill called as she emerged from the healer’s blind spot. Anders figured it was only a matter of time before the little blood mage finally peeled her eyes away from Isabela’s swaying hips long enough to notice the existence another being. “Excuse me, Anders!”

Walking behind Hawke, Isabela, and Fenris during one of their jaunty evening strolls through the Wounded Coast, Anders had fallen far enough behind to stumble into the range of Merrill’s curious stare. He spent a solid minute berating himself for such a novice mistake.

“Anders?” Merrill called again. “What sort of favor are you going to give Fenris?”

Anders tripped over the foot of his staff, flailing into a bush at the roadside. He took a moment to gaze incredulously up at Merrill before righting himself. “Wait, what?”

Isabela turned to snicker at the healer as he emerged from the bush while Fenris merely shot him a quirked eyebrow, as if to scold the mage for embarrassing him. Luckily, the two were distracted by Hawke before Merrill could make any more startling announcements.

“I’ve been thinking of giving Isabela a bit of my silk undercoat,” Merrill continued, oblivious to Anders’ inner turmoil, “but it wouldn’t stand out so much against all her pretty jewelry.”

Merrill gave a wistful sigh, pressing her hands against her cheeks as she strained her ears for the signature music that accompanied Isabela’s saunter. The pirate’s dangling earrings tapped against her necklace which clinked against her amulets as her bangles brushed her the daggers dangling from her belt.

Merrill had a hard time thinking of any song more beautiful.

Sometimes, when she felt particularly lonely, Merrill thought she heard those sounds at night, leading her to throw her door open only to find a cart passing by or a man counting coin. The crushing disappointment would be worth it, Merrill was sure, once it was finally Isabela.

“What in the Maker’s name are you going on about?!” Anders hissed, shuffling backwards when he finally stood up and found Merrill three steps closer than strictly necessary.

“Well,” Merrill took another step closer to whisper, “I’m talking about favors.”

“Oh Maker, no, I am not have having this conversation with a blood mage,” Anders groaned. “It’s none of your sodding business!”

“I just saw how you were looking at him and-”

“I’m surprised you can see anything beyond that damned mirror,” Anders snapped before Merrill could reveal too much. The amount and quality of his “looks” at Fenris were of little importance, since the damned elf would never look back.

Fenris, naturally, chose that exact moment to tilt his head and peek over his shoulder to check on his apostate. Anders, busy in his own mind, didn’t notice. He and Anders then performed a comical switch once Fenris turned away and the mage’s eyes were drawn back to the very flattering angle the elf’s hips were set at.

With amusement at the scene and irritation with Anders waring on her face, Merrill huffed and crossed her arms. “I’m surprised you can see anything that isn’t Fenris’ butt.”

Anders tore his eyes away from said butt to glower at Merrill. “His arse happens to be his sole redeeming feature.”

Either Anders’ voice was louder than he thought, or there really was a purpose to those ridiculous elvhen ears, because Fenris twisted his spine and quirked his head to sneer backwards. “What are you talking about, mage?”

“That was Merrill. Merrill said that.”

Although the next few hours of squabbling and bickering diverted Merrill from her question, one that filled Anders with bile every time he considered it, she was a tenacious creature. Anders had never really reflected on the elf’s impressive stubbornness before, but considering how she managed to remain innocent with demons _and_ Isabela whispering in her ear, it was deserving of some admiration.

“You never told me what you were going to give Fenris,” Merrill chirped the very next time she cornered Anders, which happened to be during a rather dull fight with a pack of spiders.

Anders arm twitched so dramatically, his glyph of paralysis turned into a glyph of repulsion and sent a spider flying right out of the cave. Luckily, the spider-turned-projectile knocked two of its fellows off of Fenris, who turned toward Anders and nodded briskly before rejoining the fray.

Anders glared at his back, mostly to combat the warm feeling at the thought that he’d managed to impress Fenris, but quickly retuned his attention to Merrill. “Keep quiet about that!”

“I just don’t want people thinking Isabela isn’t _ma’vhenan_ ,” Merrill whispered, clearly mistaking Anders’ plea to never bring up favors again as a plea to lower her voice. “And Fenris is _very_ pretty and I’ve seen the way Sebastian looks at him, so you must be awfully worried he might be stolen-”

“Well I’m not and I don’t care- wait, what are you talking about? What about Sebastian?”

Unfortunately, before Anders could demand further detail and contemplate more ways to murder a certain Chantry Brother, the spider queen burst out from beneath their feet and Merrill was diving for cover and Anders was being rescued from the mandibles of death, mortifyingly, by Hawke.

Hawke wasn’t a large woman, vertically, but she did have a heft to her broad shoulders that made it slightly less humiliating to be lifted and carried so easily. Slightly.

Very, very slightly.

“You alright there, handsome?” Hawke chirped as she held Anders aloft, one arm beneath his knees and the other wrapped under his ribs, leaving Anders to clutch at her neck. Hawke was remarkably unconcerned with the spider queen, screaming in her death throes as Merrill pumped her full of electricity.

Isabela was staring at Merrill, not even trying to hide it, because there must be something, some instinct from a time when her ancestors lived in caves that wanted to preen whenever a lover demonstrated such power.

If her daggers slipped through numb fingers during her gawking, well, Varric wasn’t around to read into it.

Anders, meanwhile, flushed and crossed his arms, feeling decidedly petulant about the whole situation. “No, I’m thinking not.”

Hawke laughed and hefted the mage higher into her arms as she stepped down from the rocks onto the flatter base of the cavern. Her eyes twinkled as she mocked, “I’d put you down, but I doubt even you can heal ego.”

“Hawke!” Fenris shouted as he wade through the spider detritus and debris to reach them. “Hawke, put him down, he is not a child.”

“I don’t think I can, Fen.” Hawke cackled. “I mean, I wouldn’t want him swooning.”

“I might swoon,” Anders agreed, willing to deal with the embarrassment if it meant that furious expression twisting Fenris’ face would stay. That damn elf wore jealousy too well. “Swooning is a very real danger.”

Merrill drew Isabela’s attention away from Hawke and the boys with the sheer force of her existence. Isabela, although fond of Fenris and intrigued by the color his ears were turning, was only too happy to smile at her little elf as she fluttered about.

“Oh my, oh dear,” Merrill fussed, leaning down to brush the blue ichor away from Isabela’s tunic only to have it stain her own hands and smudge over the tops of Isabela’s legs. Merrill withdrew her hands with a squeak, leaving two damningly obvious blue handprints on her lover’s thighs, and despite the disgusting smell, Isabela couldn’t help but imagine of all the wonderful games they could play with blue ink. “Your pretty dress is all ruined!”

“Just another excuse to take it off,” Isabela purred and Merrill’s cheeks burst into color. The blue handprints stood out against Isabela’s thighs and the pirate took a moment to drag her own hands along imprints of Merrill’s fingers long after the elf turned away.

There was something fluttery and warm about Merrill, Isabela decided. She’d never met another being who could elicit the same sensation with little more than a smile.

She assumed it was a blood mage thing.

“Mage! Come down!”

“No, I think I’ll stay up here with Hawke and the birds, as it turns out I _do_ enjoy being carried.”

“Shall I find you a palanquin and some slaves then, _mage_?”

“Why bother? I already have such a strong and capable warrior right here!”

“Is this all I am to you two?” Hawke mourned to the cavern’s ceiling. “Just another tool in your increasingly- uh, _obtrusive_ rivalry?”

The word “sexy” had nearly slipped out of her mouth but, thank the Maker, Hawke had more tact than that.

She loved her companions, but sometimes they required a delicate hand. Like building a ship in a bottle, one sneeze or offhand mention of mage rights could send the whole thing tumbling down.

If only everyone could be as mature as Hawke, who was currently considering a variety of different methods of seducing a chastity-sworn brother.

Considering the excitement of the caves, camp was a dull affair with Anders making an effort to avoid Merrill, who was thankfully distracted by Isabela, and Fenris sinking into a sulk of epic proportion after being denied.

Unfortunately, the walk back to Kirkwall posed the same hazard; a bored Merrill and little room for escape.

“So!” Merrill continued pointedly once Isabela and Fenris were once again separated from their mages. “I made a list of all Isabela’s favorite things, and I’d like to see your list so we can discuss.”

“What did you mean about Sebastian and Fenris?” Anders demanded without missing a beat, as if the thought had been clawing at his insides since Merrill mentioned it. With his eyebrows inverted and his lips bitten, he looked uncharacteristically nervous.

Merrill often forgot how insecure such a tall man could be, how he overthought every little seed of misfortune that he came across. Merrill frowned when she realized she’d been the one to plant such a seed in his head so even though she had seen the way the Chantry Brother’s gaze lingered on Fenris and Isabela as they walked, she recanted.

“Oh, well, it’s nothing _sordid_.” Merrill lay a finger against her lower lip in thought, cementing her lie. “They’re always chatting, you know? You two _never_ chat.”

“No.” Anders’ face relaxed into his usual frown. “We don’t chat, Merrill, we have sex.”

The little blood mage giggled. “I know! Actually, I think nearly everyone in Hightown knows!” Before Anders could demand an explanation about that, Merrill was once again off on another thought. “But besides that, a favor is a romantic thing! You know about romance, you were in love with that Tranquil-” Merrill felt a twinge of guilt at the flinch she’d elicited and backtracked. “Anyway, a favor says that you’ll always come back to that person, to return the precious thing. So it’s all very romantic and all lovers should have one!”

Anders squirmed out of his doubts and regrets just long enough to shoot Merrill a sullen frown. He never seemed able to squirm far enough away from such things to actually smile, Merrill mused, but she would take what she got.

“So what does Fenris like?” the blood mage prompted. She smiled her sweetest smile, the one that dimpled her cheeks and made Isabela’s eyes flash with heat, and waited for Anders to be reminded of how nice she was before he came up with too many insults.

Caught soundly in her smile, Anders shuffled before fully surrendering. “ _Fine_. But he mostly likes killing mages, being ignorant, threats, me not talking, and alcoholism. Nothing I could give as a gift, certainly not anything he could wear.”

“Mm,” Merrill hummed. “No, I don’t think any of those are things you could give someone. I had the same problem with Isabela. I mean, it’s not as if she could wear sex!”

Anders snorted. “No, but she certainly is trying.”

“Aw!” Merrill bumped Anders with her shoulder, too overcome with giggles to do much else. “Isabela was right; you’re a lot more fun now that you have a lover!”

“Urg, I’m walking ahead, don’t talk to me.”

Merrill fell into a fit of giggles, allowing Anders to stomp ahead.

Bending over to contain her laughter, Merrill was torn from her amusement when she noticed the bare front of her tunic. She yelped and a spike of panic shot through her at the sight. Searching for the pendant that once hung there, Merrill ran her hand over her tunic, feeling for the bump underneath the fabric, only to find nothing.

“Oh no!” she cried, spinning as she scanning the ground for the glint of the pearls or the shimmering pendant. “Hawke! Hawke, help!”

The reaction was instantaneous; in a flash of blue, Fenris was at her side, sword drawn and ready, shouting, “Where are they?!”

Merrill blinked her eyes wide as the rest of the gang jogged back to join them. “What do you mean? That was what I was going to ask you.”

“Sweet thing, what’s happened?” Isabela cooed, stashing her daggers back in their sheaths so discretely it was as if they’d never flashed in the afternoon sun. Now that it was clear Merrill was in no serious danger, as if she’d ever react to an attack with _fear_ , Isabela felt her good humor returning.

If only Fenris felt the same. “The blood mage has clearly gone mad, I say we-”

Hawke flailed her hand at Fenris, smacking the tips of his spiked shoulders, to quiet him. “Right, right. I know what you think we should do.” She rolled her eyes fondly before returning to Merrill, who was still teetering on the verge of panic. “Did you step on something sharp, Merrill?”

Merrill shook her head. “No, I think I’ve lost the necklace you gave me!” she confessed. “The pretty one with the pearls and the shiny, rainbow picture-”

“Abalone shell, sweetling.” Isabela offered helpfully.

“And the shell!” Merrill finished with a nervous flutter of her hands. “What if it’s lost forever?”

“Merrill,” Anders called. “It’s right here!” He lifted a sting lined with pearls out of the dirt and held it for Merrill to grab. “The string broke.”

“Oh!” Merrill cradled it to her chest to inspect the damage. Luckily, the pearls were tied in place by thick twine and it was only the knot that slipped. The beautiful, shimmering plate of abalone (according to Isabela, who was just _so_ well-traveled and clever) had avoided a crack and scuffing in the soft sand. “Thank you so much, Anders! This is the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me!”

“Just yesterday I put your kidney back inside you!”

Merrill smile in response, remembering how Anders reacted to compliments and why no one ever thanked him, but still appreciative for his assistance. At her expressive joy, Anders softened and peered over Merrill's elbow to further examine the necklace, fascinated by the image etched into the shell. It was hard to make out in the harsh light, but the etching had the general shape of a large-bodied, heavily pregnant woman.

“Is that necklace magic?” Anders asked.

“Oh no,” Merrill replied. “It’s just for luck! It’s supposed to bring you love!” If her gaze strayed on her lover a little too long, Isabela was certainly ignoring it. “Hawke gave it to me. Isn’t that sweet?”

“Huh?” Hawke answered, turning away from whatever Sebastian-themed fantasy dominated her mind at the moment to blink stupidly at Merrill. “What? I thought we weren’t allowed to talk about my gifts anymore.”

“Provided you stop giving them,” Fenris muttered into his gauntlet, which also hid his smile when Anders failed to cover up his own laugh with a cough.

“Oh, but this one is very nice!” Merrill smiled. “Thanks again!”

“But I-” A sudden nudge from Isabela derailed Hawke for a moment before she continued. “I mean, right, no problem. You’re happy, I’m happy!”

Merrill chirped her appreciation and the party started moving again.

She hardly noticed when Hawke mumbled, “It hardly counts as a courting gift if she doesn’t know it’s from you.” Isabela elbowed Hawke a little harder than necessary. “Y’ow! Maker, alright, alright. Leaving the advice and those elbow harpoons for Varric…”

But if Merrill had noticed, she would’ve thought nothing of it. Humans were always have secret little interactions that ended in subtly hurting each other, if Merrill starting trying to interpret them, she’d never have any time to work on the mirror.

The next time Merrill found Anders was in Varric’s suite at the Hanged Man. He was sitting alone with Varric and although the healer seemed adamant that no one else find out about him and Fenris, Merrill doubted Varric counted, seeing as he already knew everything. After peeking in to make sure there were no spoilers laying around, Merrill bounded forward and made straight for Anders.

“So!” Merrill announced herself. “What are you going to give Fenris?”

Anders shot a nervous look toward Varric, who hadn’t even bothered to look up from his letters other than to offer Merrill a cheery wave, before responding. “Wh… why would I give that bigot anything?”

Merrill cocked her head to the side, as if a different angle would explain Anders’ behavior. “Because you love him?”

The sheer level of indignant squawking that left Anders’ mouth made him seem more like an agitated crow than even his feathered mantle managed. Merrill giggled at the thought, wondering if his feathers would puff up with his rising irritation.

“Maker, no! I don’t- no! What’s, who even, no!” Anders cried.

“Blondie, stop it, you’re embarrassing the entire room.”

Anders turned on Varric with a glower that would have been threatening on anyone else’s face. “You didn’t hear anything, Varric, I mean it!”

Varric quirked an eyebrow. “If you think there’s a single person in Kirkwall who doesn’t know about you two, then you’ve officially gone mad.”

Anders flushed with anger, recalling Merrill’s earlier comment and demanded, “Why does everyone keep saying that?!”

Varric’s other eyebrow joined the first in an expression of pure disbelief. “Are you serious? You two actually think you’re sneaking around?”

“Um, well…” Merrill explained at the same time. “Fenris’ manor is mostly broken windows… and there’s a big hole in the ceiling…”

“The amount of times I’ve shown up at your clinic to deliver lyrium and seen you bent over your desk… I’ve actually considered selling tickets.”

 “… and it’s just across from the Hightown Commons… and you’re _very_ loud… and you do glow sometimes...”

“And camping, Maker! The bizarre shapes I’ve seen your silhouettes contorted into, it’s a miracle no one’s broken their neck!”

“It can actually be very helpful!” Merrill said, offering Anders a supportive smile. “I get some really good ideas from you two sometimes!”

“That is true,” Varric conceded. “I mean, the last three chapters of _Swords and Shields_ are mostly based off aforementioned weird shapes.”

Anders’ forehead made a satisfying thump against Varric’s hardwood table. He wound his arms around his head and groaned as Varric and Merrill exchanged sympathetic smiles.

The dwarf leaned over give the mage a pat on the shoulder. “So what’s all this about a favor?”

Merrill face lit up. “I read about it in your book! The sad Darktown one! Anders and I are going to give Isabela and Fenris tokens, isn’t that sweet?”

“The sweetest,” Varric said with such sincerity, Anders was convinced they were being mocked.

“Anders is being stubborn and doesn’t want to admit that he loves Fenris, but I have it narrowed down to a bit of the silk that Hawke bought me or some of my pretty Ironwood buttons. Mahariel made them, you know. They’re very special to me.” She swayed slightly as she imagined them tied to Isabela’s corset, where the entire world could see them. “I want them to be special to Isabela too.”

Varric patted Merrill’s hand and glanced over at the angrier apostate. “And you?”

Anders plucked a feather from his mantle and dangled it in front of the dwarf’s face, eyebrow raised.

“A feather won’t work,” Merrill whined. “You lose your feathers all the time. It’s supposed to be something you would want back, like something very important. Like your rune-thingy, the one on your belt.”

Anders glanced down at the rune she was gesturing towards; shaped like a heraldry, it depicted the Tevinter sigil for Spirit Mages, an ancient branch of augurs, which had, over time, morphed into a critical element of a spirit summoning glyph.

“This?” Anders asked, unclipping the heavy rune from his belt to examine it. “Why in the Maker's name would Fenris want a Tevinter Spirit Rune?”

“Because you want it!” Merrill chirped. “If he ever goes off to battle, he’ll have to return and give it to you!”

“Goes off too… Blighted void, what book did you get this nonsense out of?”

Varric managed a look of subtle offence, although he was mostly still shocked Anders thought he was sneaking around. Aveline had gotten _noise complaints_ , for the Maker’s sake. Varric himself had been some of the originator of some of those complaints.

“It doesn’t matter,” Merrill argued. “It’s something humans do to tie each other together without being married. It means I love her and… and even though I know she’ll leave me, I want her to return every once and a while.”

With Merrill’s lower lip quivering dangerously and Anders looking ready to argue that Fenris hardly cared about him enough to return a magical artifact, Varric asked, “Where’d you get that thing, Blondie?”

Anders glanced at Varric, startling as if he’d forgotten he was in the dwarf’s suite, before shrugging. “I… don’t really remember… Oh, right, Hawke found it in a crate and Fenris threw it at me. The prick, I had a bump on my head for a week!”

Varric, if only to see if he could shock some sense into his closest friends, then asked, “So, Hawke gave it to you?”

Anders hummed his agreement, but looked unsure.

“Hawke gives such nice gifts!” Merrill chirped, only to remember that, no, gift giving was not Hawke’s strength and glanced down at her own necklace in confusion. She twirled the pearls around, contemplating how she received it in the first place.

Hadn’t Isabela nicked it from the docks? Merrill seemed to remember Aveline lecturing her about it before Hawke managed to pacify them.

Varric shook his head in amusement; Blondie and Daisy were surprisingly bright for their abysmal life choices, but the fact that neither of them had noticed they wore their lover’s favor boded ill for their overall intelligence.

Varric observed (for posterity, of course) the smile that evened out Isabela’s features when she swaggered in for their game night only to find Merrill cheerfully examining the favor she’d tricked her little blood mage into wearing.

Nearly an hour later, once the elf arrived, Varric had to swallow a laugh at the shy excitement that colored his ears whenever Anders’ fingers unconsciously brushed against the rune.

The fact that Isabela managed to convince Merrill that a Rivaini talisman was a gift from Hawke, who wouldn’t know a good gift if it hit her in the face, was pathetic enough but Anders missing the way Fenris’ gaze lit up every time it fell upon the Tevinter Rune affixed to his healer’s belt was simply _tragic_.

Whipping out his quill once he’d herded them all home for the night, Varric set to work.

He was going to make a _fortune_ off these idiots.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr at almsiviintervention


End file.
